Bronze
by artisinthecreationofsubtext
Summary: 2018-26, the years of the next generation. Pyxis Malfoy; subject of speculation, daughter of Draco and Hermione Malfoy. Self-proclaimed social outcast. First chapter, first year; second onwards, sixth . Just a witch's high school life. M later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer – _You know the dance. Any recognized characters, places and events belong to J.K, and I'm only playing around in my spare time. Anything else, we'll say for the sake of argument, does not belong to me...

_Author's Note – __**RAMBLING FOLLOWS, SKIP BELOW IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW.**_

At this point I don't have a clue what I'm about to write, which should be fun. However; the following scenes are likely to involve **swearing**, **violence**, **magical misuse **and **sex**. So anybody underage or disapproving should turn away now... you done? It will also certainly involve **OC**, probably unintentional **OOC**, and **AU**. Again, any disapprovals turn away _now_. I am undecided on _flashbacks_, _Post Hogwarts, most major HP events_, and any other common HPFanfic content. I can assure you, however, that while I am writing none of my fics will contain a Harry-Twin. This fic is based on a Hr/D, Lu/H, G/Z, R/La foundation, basically my love for Dramione spawned a child. My first fanfiction, feel free to review!

**Bronze**

**Chapter One**

"Hufflepuff!" The hat yelled ecstatically. The little girl with the mousy hair stumbled forward, executed a delighted twirl, before dropping into the welcoming embrace of the female Prefect – one Betsy Roberts, I think – and the next child in line hurried forth. Michael Lint was sorted into Gryffindor, and Georgina Lorret stalked over to the Slytherin table, looking extremely stereotypical as she did so. A plump little boy went up next – an all around "Gryffindor!" too, and a plain looking girl, and then it was me.

I walked to Professor Sprout with a lope that was practiced and graceful; head held high with my dark swinging back and forth imperiously. It wasn't quite as straight as my father's, and so not enough to link me to him, and it was shiny, chocolate and beautiful, unlike in my mother's teenage years and so, not quite like her's either. Actually, I was proud to not quite look like either of them – not mother, not father, not grandmother... great aunt, not so much. I definitely had the sharp regality she had held in life. I had her temper, and her passion; but none of her 'unadulterated evil' as mother put it. I also had her diamond-like colourless eyes, like opals. The only colours missing from the kaleidoscope, I had realized over the years, were brown and grey. It always made father and mother laugh. I would just smile.

From the front I could see the whole hall, from my sister Vela sat smugly on the Slytherin table as though she owned the world - even in her fourth year - to Ginny Weasley's twins; Charlotte and Ryan Zabini, smiling at me from Gryffindor. I didn't let any emotion register as the woman to placed the hat on my head, and didn't flinch when it began to speak. I, in fact, looked bored – or the closest to it I could muster.

_Another Malfoy child. _The old voice whispered, a hint of contempt in his aging rasp. _The second of the 'reformed generation', I see. Well, we will see, in time. Granger blood in you too, but strange... You definitely share your mother's brains, but your father's cunning... no, not your father's cunning... someone else's. An old pal, I see, comes back to me. I shall grant her wish in this lifetime, then, and place you where your heart begs – it can only be_ RAVENCLAW_!_

I shook the hat off of my head and slid off of the stool amongst the polite claps.

"Old fool." I rolled my eyes. They would definitely need to replace him soon. I swept down to the polished table, joining the end of the bench where no-one sat. The faint tingling that passed through me at the Hat's announcement abated as I watched the rest of the first years get sorted. A few of my housemates attempted conversation, but I kept my eyes fixed on the head table, and they eventually went away. I could see my father up there, sat next to my mother, and the two of them had their hands linked on the table as they looked down at me with pride. I rolled my eyes when a tear rolled down my mother's pasty cheek, and smiled with a burst of rare affection for the woman who bore me. She was so _silly_.

The hall was filled with amiable whispering throughout the Sorting. Murmurs like 'that's my third cousin' and 'oh, the Oprevsky child. I'd have thought she was a squib' bustled around in the air. The only time the hall actually fell silent was when Professor Sprout reached the end of 'P' and called forth 'Potter, Azrael'.

Now, the affair of the Lovegood girl and the Chosen One had been tabloid fodder for months and months, but they had never quite caught a picture of the illegitimate outcome. And, as it turned out, no amount of description could have prepared _anybody _for the young woman dancing up the steps.

Dusty black hair like the fur of the most beautiful panther floated around her pale shoulders, for she had her robe curled around the handle of the trunk she towed. The outfit she wore underneath was the exact royal blue of Ravenclaw house; a peasant shirt that hugged her thin arms, and billowed out over her chest and down to mid-thigh. A skirt of a much deeper colour elongated her legs and brushed the floor as she moved, swirling elegantly. A pretty white ferret curled itself comfortably around her neck like the finest scarf, and – the only exception to her all blue rule – some scuffed black Mary Janes were visible when she skipped occasionally. She walked more like she was to graduate, not enter.

Upon reaching the stool, she turned, displaying a heart-shaped face with emerald green cat's eyes. Her lips, unpolished, were also heart shaped; a dusky pink. She looked away with the fairies, and, I realized when I saw the book she was carrying (upside down), she probably was. She shot nobody a smile that could melt hearts before the hat slid over to obscure her face. It took a second, and her still visible lips curling into a smirk, before the hat called out 'Ravenclaw!' and she drifted to us.

Where the rest of the house had kept the space around me clear, she had no qualms against sitting down right next to me, shining me a huge grin, and letting her ferret down onto my lap before turning back to the Sorting. I looked at her stonily for a minute before giving up; stroking her pet and letting it purr at me. Do ferrets purr? This one certainly did. I looked back up at my parents to see my mother stifling a laugh, and my father looking whiter than usual as he fixed his gaze on the girl next to me. Huh, so father didn't like the Potter spawn?

I looked at the quidditch player's daughter. She was letting her emotions play across her face as the Sorting wrapped up – excitement, anxiety, happiness, interest, disdain, admiration and scorn – and I pondered the idea of having an ally in this forest of a school. No doubt she would need me to show her the ropes, and we could both probably use a friend. _Friend_. An unknown term, heaven knows why it had hopped into my head. No, I didn't need friends. But she would make a useful ally, most likely. Hmm.

The Headmistress, old Professor McGonagall, gave a quick and sharp speech before she bade the food appear. It had something about the Forbidden Forest being still, quite obviously, _forbidden_, in it, and also she introduced "our most prized new teacher, Professor Eleanor West of Defence Against The Dark Arts". I heard a few Slytherins from behind me betting on how long 'this one' would last. I rolled my eyes at their insensitivity. I'm insensitive, but that? Well.

A feast of all different meats, potatoes, vegetables and god-knows-what was laid out before us, and I reached out to help myself to the chicken. Azrael, however, took a mint humbug to unwrap and place delicately on her tongue. "I've gotten quite fond of my muggle sweets over the years, because let's face it. Every Flavour Beans are just so _wrong_." I raised my eyebrows, not looking at her as I reached for the gravy and made an agreeing noise. "Oh, come on, Pyxis. You can't just avoid everyone. You get nowhere at Hogwarts without friends."

"Watch me," I challenged, stabbing my fork into the chicken and shoving a sample into my mouth. Delicious.

"That's just the thing, I can't. That would just be cruel. So basically, I'm going to be affable and you're going to join in, and if we end up allies, then so be it. Okay?"

"Not really." I sighed, slightly taken aback by her accurate guess of my intentions, and shuffling away from the little girl towards the third year boy closest to me. He looked at me strangely. "Look, Azrael, I know you're all 'important' and stuff-"

She laughed, a pleasant noise... kind of like bells. "I'm not important! I'm gossip. And honestly, I need you just as much as you need me. You think I can trust any of these," she waved an arm to include the student side of the hall, "to be my friend? To keep my secrets and look after my mental health? To be completely honest, and help with my problems? No, I can't. And neither can you. Because they'll use me for my father and you for your parents – both. Whereas a screw-up here by me equals an equal one from you. An eye for an eye, and it will be easy. Come along, Pyxis. You know you want _someone_."

After a moment of looking at her, and absently letting her pet rush along the table and back, I shook my head in acquiescence. "It's not Pyxis. It's Xie. You'll need to know that."

She nodded and smiled. "Az-ray-elle."

I nodded back, before offering her some beef from the dish near me. "Here. You can't live on mint."

She shrugged, sticking her tongue out. "Ulcers from the stuff. Here, here and here. I wouldn't try, trust me." She prodded it and put it back, before grinning. "Draco loves them, though. Crunches them all up as though they're lettuce. Don't you, sweetie-pie?" The ferret twisted itself around the bowl and made a face at them like it understood. I laughed, reaching out to tickle him. "He likes you."

I grinned with her, smoothing down the ivory fur. Azrael watched me in delight. "How long have you had him?"

"Not long, my father gave me him for my eleventh birthday. I let him name him, because he couldn't name me. That's why he's called Draco, like your father that time in his fourth year. Dad couldn't get over the humour of it all."

I raised an eyebrow, but didn't bother asking what she was on about. As far as I could tell, she could talk for England, and Ididn't really want to encourage that. I speared a potato and dropped it into my mouth, taking time to chew and swallow. Repeating this, I found the utter dullness and assembly of it all to pass time and soon enough the dessert appeared to take up more of my time. Full, I was the one to take the humbug this time.

Azrael, however, lunged for a dish of a brown, syrup-like goo as her eyes lit up. "Pudding!" She cried, replacing the dish with her gilded bowl. I couldn't watch as she made dog food of the stuff, which had looked disgusting enough _before _she had begun.

Finally McGonagall took it upon herself to stand back up and send the mess of food away.

"I hope you enjoyed your meals, the best our elves could make. Now, before we depart I would like to say a few words, including one about uniform. I see that the alterations we had decided to allow –" her eyes lingered momentarily on the legs of some Gryffindors, whom had replaced their black or grey slacks with jogging pants, or tracksuit bottoms; or the Slytherins with their belts and knee high hooker boots "- have in _some _cases gotten a little out of hand. I remind you all that though with these modern times we have allowed you a little more freedom on how you choose to dress yourself; we must still conduct ourselves in a manner suitable for a school such as ours." This time her cat's eyes scanned the older students, most of whom had gone a lot further than 'slightly personalizing' their uniform. One girl was dressed entirely in red and gold, with hair backcombed like a lions mane. A Gryffindor, of course.

"I trust our older years to lead the rest of the school in their dress codes, and henceforth I grant Prefects and Head Students the power to use charms in their corrections of people's dress. I believe this is a decision in your favour. I thank most of our first years for abiding by the rules put forward in their letters, with the exception of one or two, for whom it seems..." she smiled at Azrael, "...breaking rules is hereditary. Detention, Ms Potter, tomorrow evening at seven o'clock in my office.

"Now, as I'm sure you're all aware, this year is 2019, making it Triwizard Year! Any over-seventeen's that would like to be delegations must sign up with Professor Malfoy; who will be taking them to Bulgaria in October.

"The clock is ticking ever closer to oblivion and I believe so you are biologically. I won't torture you by keeping you any longer. Goodnight, children."

The hall chorused a farewell back at their beloved headmistress before the Prefects stood to lead the first years to their dormitories. The Ravenclaw Prefects stood side by side at the end of the table, looking entirely intimidating. The girl was plain, with a permanently flushed face that was all puppy fat and olive skin. Her eyes were hard and she wasn't extremely thin but rather muscular for a girl. Her uniform was immaculate, and her hair hung down with no fringe, parted perfectly central. Her Prefect badge hung, polished well, next to her Quidditch Captain badge. The boy beside her just looked _nice_. Smart, yet not plain too. He smiled at me as we joined the group of eight that were stood with him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Ravenclaws!" He waved.

"I'm Hilda Tessla, beater, and this is Tom Riddle – family joke." The girl said in a bored tone. I couldn't quite imagine her summoning the passion to play Quidditch, never mind being beater – never mind being Captain.

"Not a funny one, apparently. Come on, then. We'll need to be getting there before the Gryffindors get all of the good staircases." There was an ion of humour from Tom, and he skipped slightly as he walked. There was something a bit strange about him, I thought, as we walked. I couldn't get it though.

"Gay." Azrael whispered loftily. I looked behind me, where she was dancing along. "Didn't you see the way he looked at that boy back there? And they were all over each other at lunch. Not even 'friend flirting'. Totally homosexual." She said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and I shot her a puzzled look.

"He is _not _gay. They wouldn't let that sort in."

Mother would've killed me, had she heard me then. They had tried so hard to raise me 'right'. But children's prejudice can't be masked; and 'gay' equalled 'wrong' in society.

"You'll see. It's okay, you know. My mother was pansexual."

I shot her a queer look, not knowing what the hell she meant, and hurried on behind the – definitely straight – prefects. They reached a wall on which there was an elaborately carved knocker. Hilda smacked it down onto wood.

"Ah, Hilda. Back again." It hissed. The crowd gasped and rippled backwards; so I shoved the boy in front of me.

"Get a grip, freak."

"Yes, and I made Prefect." Hilda talked over his answer.

"I always knew it. I assume you're here with the young."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then I shall be kind, yet test their mind. Young ones, answer me swiftly. What has eyes, and yet cannot see? Think fast."

The children around me started to mutter amongst themselves, taking a pathetically long time. I tired of it quickly.

"A storm." I declared, loud and directed at the knocker.

It laughed, or something close to it. "Four answers are there, four answers to be fair."

"A needle," a boy yelled. Tom shushed him gently.

"Correct, but not yet enough. Try again."

After a few pointless suggestions, Hilda smiled and said in a fond voice; "Oh, Rowena, you work them too hard."

"I prepare them. They are no mere _Gryffindors_," she would've spat the word, could she have. "We have a reputation to uphold, for the good of The Grey Lady if no-one else. If you wish to contribute the answer, however, you may do so."

She was quiet, and the knocker cackled again.

"I'm sorry, guys. She gets a bit temperamental nowadays." Tom shrugged.

"It's her fault for being a sour bitch. Excuse my language, I hear it around the castle. It is most definitely _not _French, though." We turned to see a beautiful grey figure ghost up to us. She was tall and had the most gorgeous old movie looks; and was dressed in a beautiful, expensive funeral gown. She passed through – literally, _through_ – us, sending us backwards with violent shivers. "A true lover. Now allow Hildegard and Thomas entry with their wards, or I shall have you replaced. This is your only chance."

"They did not answer the riddle."

"...and potatoes!" Azrael hopped up in glee, shouting the answer as she laughed freely. The woman looked at her, smiled, and Hilda pushed on the wall. It opened inwards, letting them into the common room. It was in the highest tower, and was decorated in the most tasteful way with bronzes and powder blue. It looked comfortable, with it's full bookcases and plump chairs. The fire crackled happily.

"The boy's dormitory is through there on the left. The girl's is on the top of the tower, through that door. You should all go and get some sleep. Most -" Hilda looked at the trunk Azrael dragged with disdain, "of your luggage is upstairs. Unpack at your leisure."

We tottered off to our dormitories, Azrael carrying her case the whole way. She had an annoying habit, I discovered later that night, of needing to unpack her trunk before she slept.

It took her until twenty-three minutes past one to get everything 'perfect', and then after that the girl in the bed next to mine began to snore.

_I think I might go chat with the doorknob, actually..._

_Author's Note: _Hey. Okay, first chapter and all, it could be complete, utter, rubbish; but it could be good. If you like it, let me know. If you didn't... well, let me know. I'll be waiting to hear from you. Sorry if there are any problems or issues... it gets better. Hopefully... Love!


	2. Chapter 2

**Bronze**

**Chapter Two**

_**SIXTH YEAR...**_

The tapping of claws was what had woken us. Us, being the five girls sat around the common room, drowsy, at six o'clock in the morning. It was, of course, only the first day yet. That was likely the cause. We had lost our immunity over the summer. Things that go bump in the night had begun to frighten us again, as had the ghosts and giants. Pathetic, really. There were no whiny first years among us. Only four, scared, tired, sixteen year olds and one tired, scared newly seventeen year old (me).

There was Azrael Potter, my best friend, daughter of international Quidditch star Harry Potter and his one-time mistress Luna Lovegood. She was curled up with her pet ferret Draco. Next to her Katrin Thomas stretched over a couch in front of a fire, a mug of coffee she had gotten from a house elf set down next to her. Joannie Grant and Sapphie Binns were tossing a quaffle they had enchanted into a porcupine across the room. And I was bent over the fire, checking over my books for the thousandth time that summer. Mother had assigned me millions of essays so that I 'didn't get rusty', and father had burnt them all, including the few I had noted from the books on, so I needed to check I got everything.

I heard a rustle behind me, and turned to watch Draco prod the dropped porcupine with it's nose. Joannie, a mild-mannered popular girl, knelt down to reverse the spell. Her long blonde hair had been gripped high up on her head to mimic the style of the Slytherin's, and she wore her new uniform – a pleated grey skirt that reached mid-thigh, no tights, a white blouse that was several sizes to small and a pair of knee high blue socks. Her face was magically painted tan and her eyes were lined with thick unnaturally black lashes. Her robe was draped over a coffee table, and she had piled her wand and school bag on top. She, Katrin and a few Gryffindors haunted the dungeons looking for unprotected Hufflepuff boys to seduce when they weren't studying or in lessons.

I looked back at Katrin. Her looks were certainly striking; thick black hair she wore tumbling down in knotted curls over her breasts, olive skin and the deepest green eyes. She was _very _pretty. She wasn't quite as desperate as her friends; wearing only small amounts of foundation - if any at all. She wore the deepest black slacks and a man's shirt under her robes. She also had a boyfriend, unlike most of her group. A Slytherin seventh year. "Once you go green, you never go back." She had once told me, in our fourth year, I think. She never had. Salvatore Nott was her 'one and only love'.

Sapphie Binns was one of _those _girls. She could be pretty, but she didn't try. She was slender, and an average height. Her hair was a brown that shone blonde in the light but she didn't do anything with it. It hung around her chin, slightly feathered at the sides. Her eyes saw things that other people ignored. She wore her uniform with no personalization and she did all of her work with an exactness that was annoying at times. She had no panache. This made her a perfect contender for the spot as Quidditch Captain, apparently, although I had been to every Ravenclaw match and she had _never _played. But this was not my decision.

I watched her as she put her quaffle back into the box, smirking to herself. I wondered, not for the first time, what she was thinking about. She always did that. She was always smiling to herself and writing. Never talked to anybody though. I had tried once. She had been very forthright with me.

"I'm not lonely, Pyxis. Some of us can survive without thousands of friends," she had nodded at me, "and some of us can survive with none. I'm happy. So just let me be, okay?" She had then smiled and turned back to her parchment. Since then, I hadn't even tried. We all got on well though; in the dorms. It was a truce that at night any hatred or outside prejudice was gone. We called it the 'nine 'til nine', and it was secret and exclusive. In those twelve hours, we were friends. In the other, anything goes. Like wrestlers. And school's the match.

I checked the clock and slapped the book closed. It was ridiculous that we should be up so early and not be doing anything productive. Azrael and I were still in our PJ's, after all. "I'm going to get dressed. Coming, Az?"

She looked up at me and smiled. "Sure, then you can come with me to wake up Clare."

Rolling my eyes, I consented with a wave towards the staircase. Benjamin Clare was Azrael's 'boyfriend'. They had spent the first few years here hating each other, until a run-in with a giant had thrown the two together in fifth year and made them sort out their 'unresolved tension'. And now they're 'totally in love'. Of course, if I believed them I wouldn't be so bitter about having to spend every waking moment with them both. But as it is, Love's an optimistic myth and I am bitter; extremely bitter. Azrael's _my _friend. My delightful, kooky, funny and detestable friend. He's just some posh inbred spider with his sticky web around Az.

When we were in our room I pulled on a pair of dark khaki pants and a white blouse, then dragged my school robes over the top. I tugged a pair of black lace-up knee high boots onto my feet and I was done - well, kind of. Azrael wore a floor-length black skirt and a corseted blouse that I rolled my eyes at. "You're in school, dear." I said.

She stuck her tongue out. "I have you know, McG never said anything about this. Besides, Clare likes me in corsets."

"I bet he does." I tapped my fingernails against my bedframe. I still never quite got why they insisted on calling each other by their last names. 'It's more intimate,' Az had once told me. Well, smack me thrice and hand me to Mother; I didn't know it was possible for the two to _get _more intimate. There was also something else about _preserving the nature of their relationship _or some rubbish. Whatever.

"Don't be like that, Xie. I'm sure you'll find someone. You could get anyone you liked, you know that most of Clare's friends like you. You could even get -"

"Az." I warned her to shut up with my tone. I intertwined my hair to make a braid and allowed it to swing down my back loosely. I was okay looking, but I hated the constant reminder. I tended to avoid make-up and mirrors and flattering clothes in the hope it would turn the guys and girls of the castle off. I didn't want anyone. No-one understood that. Even Ben, with his 'sixteen and still a virgin? What are you, frigid?'. Merlin, I hate that boy. Because, I know I'm not frigid. I mean, I've experimented a little... who hasn't? I just don't like guys. I don't like people, period. They're all self-satisfying, vain and hopeless. I choose my company carefully, so as not to stumble into a friendship I'd rather not.

Ben was a different matter. He makes Az happy. Done.

"Well I'm not going to watch you be jelly and do nothing, am I? Why don't you give one of them a chance, hey? They're all completely in love with you. And you know it's love because the way you dress, it can't exactly be lust..."

"Thanks, you're a babe." I said sarcastically.

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not jealous-" of the relationship "-I'm just beginning to wonder if you'll ever realize that he's not all that."

"No need for wondering, darling, I never will. It's love, it's blind, I'll never turn my back on that." She grinned. "You done? Only, it's almost seven and I'm hungry. The Great Hall will be open!" The prospect of food brightened my mood considerably.

"Alright, but this conversation will be continued." I told her, wrapping my robe around myself and hanging my bag underneath. It was only tiny; the same one my mother had used when she had been on the run from the law in her seventh year. It was practical and I was proud to wear it. Azrael grinned at me and took my hand.

"We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Love!"

Yes, truly, this is actually what she called him. Ever since he had _oh so generously _(to get me out of their hair) set me up with his cousin Jon, she had been doting over his 'super awesome match-making skills'. Just because Jon is not a complete imbecile, does not make me in love with him. But neither of the two appeared to grasp this concept. We hadn't even met since that one day. He attended Beauxbatons, a school somewhere in France, I assume, where he was a seventh-year. They had only just begun to allow men to study there, and he had jumped at the chance. As a result of this, we only communicated via owl - and I had not heard from him for almost a month now.

"Oh, shut up." I grumbled. Half skipping along with her, we made our way to the boy's sixth-year dormitory. Inside the five boys slept quite soundly, not yet ready to awaken from whatever dreams held them captive. I could see Ben, a lump under his thick Bulgaria Quidditch team duvet. This was my favourite part of the day and I revelled in it as Az signalled for me to get the bucket.

He screamed, still not used to the feeling of icy water descending on him in a seemingly never ending torrent. The other boys, woken and prepared, laughed loudly at his pain. "Three times and it's still not old," Caine Cruz chuckled. "It was probably the holiday that did it." He high-fived me where I was perched on the edge of his bed. I shifted closer to the headboard, carefully avoiding any more physical contact with the boy than was necessary as I stretched out beside him on top of his regulation blanket – after all, it was a morning. Caine still grinned and pushed my hair out of his way though. "It's nice to see you again, Xie. I missed you over the summer. You didn't owl," he said the last part in an accusing voice, waggling his finger at me.

I grabbed it and licked the tip, fulfilling his expectations. Whilst not being physical, I enjoyed playing with Caine – because it was only playing, and it was Caine. "No, I was busy. You know how my mother gets carried away, surely?"

"That is no excuse," He griped, nicking my earlobe with his teeth. His attention drifted back to his wet friend though. "You two, get a cubicle," he snapped at them. The bucket had been abandoned and Azrael was no longer standing over him triumphantly. Instead she was sat, sucking on his face whilst his hands wandered across her skin. This drew the attention of the other boys, whom had originally lost interest and begun to dress; entirely comfortable with the 'love struck' Azrael and my distraction.

Azrael looked up at them, not even blushing. "You needn't look. You can always get dressed."

"Be careful, else I'll throw you out." Caine's tone was serious, and he amplified it by stepping out of his bed, baring his tanned, muscular chest to the world.

"Merlin, Caine, put some clothes on!" Azrael hopped up and dismounted Ben in one lithe movement. I smirked, it was difficult to pretend not to notice his blatant disappointment.

"Benjamin! There are ladies present!" James Tanner complained, throwing a pillow at his roommate. James had never much liked Ben, like me. When he and Azrael had gotten together James had seen an opportunity to become a contender for my body through my obvious loathing for the boy. I had never quite gotten past his know-it-all manner enough for us to form a bond all the same, and his mentioning the one thing we shared had just made me see him in the same light as all of the other boys that were attempting to win my affections. A bad one.

The other two boys barely bothered me. Derek McGuire and Morgan Purnell were both popular and arrogant; the type that thought they could have anybody they wished for. Morgan was still fixed on having anything with a pulse; but Derek had been my toy once and I had broken his pureblood attitude. He was 'waiting for Caine to teach me a few tricks' before he tried again. Not likely. They were under the impression that I was a man eater. What. A. Joke. Boredom stopped me from rooting out and destroying the starter of that particular rumour.

When Ben finally decided to dress, we all went down to the Great Hall as a group – Caine, Ben, Az, James and I – for Breakfast. It was a Friday and so we were full of energy; knowing that our arms would be full of knee-buckling amounts of homework by the end of the day, but there would also be a weekend tomorrow to relax. We took our usual spots, centred around the seat I had claimed from my very first day at the school right at the far end of the table; 'away from civilisation' as Azrael said. James disappeared to join the boys he tutored in the fourth year, so it was just us four. Caine stole the space next to me, knowing that I would not want to talk. I never did at breakfast. He took out a pad of paper, cleared his space and started to continue a picture he'd been working on since last term. It had evolved since then though, I noted as I glanced down. It had used to be a faint, barely discernable muddle of lines. Now it had matured to show a beautiful Latino woman with elegance in all of her lines. She looked up out of the paper, half finished, her blended eyes gazing mournfully at the clouds. She looked slightly familiar, but I kept my mouth shut. Caine never liked being observed in his art.

I waited patiently for the food and the owls as the hall slowly filled up, but neither came. I frowned, looking left and right. Everybody else seemed to be wondering the same thing. "Where is it?" Azrael muttered. I shrugged, looking towards the Head table and Professor McGonagall for information. She smiled when the hall looked full, and stood up.

"I suppose you're all wondering what's going on." There was a groan of agreement from the students. "Well, today we have an important announcement. Yesterday, we neglected to tell you the most important piece of information you will be needing this year – and that is that this year is the year once again of the Triwizard Tournament! And as it is the third year, once more, we will be playing host!"

There was uproar. I clapped quietly, as I had been expecting it. I had been surprised when they hadn't announced it yesterday, actually. I seemed to be the only person that had been keeping tabs, however, as everybody else seemed delightedly surprised. "Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive, as always, in October and as always the draw will be on Halloween. And here is Hannah Abbott from the Ministry, to explain the rules." She skipped a little as she sat down. It would be her sixth since she became headmistress and she still acted like a child. Ah, Minerva.

Hannah Abbott was far from intimidating. She was chatting with my mother until her name was called and then she grinned at us all. "Hello, Hogwarts. I remember when they brought this back. I was at school then... wow, thirty five years back. That was a bad year... but anyway, the rules remain basically unchanged. Except that you're allowed a Quidditch Cup. Cruelty, that, Professor." She shot McGonagall a joking look. "However common knowledge these rules are, I have been dragged back here to remind you of them." She exaggerated an eye roll. "Only those of seventeen years and older will be allowed to participate. This is to prevent unnecessary death, injury; whatever." She fluttered a hand. "A thoroughly impartial judge shall decide whom is to enter, a different one each year, remember, folks! Anybody within the age bracket that is a student may submit their name. I'm expecting big things, Hogwarts. Bring the cup home." She winked at the Hufflepuff table, her native house. "The prize, as agreed by the joint Ministries, will this year be... wait for it... scream if you want to know... no? Okay, I'll stop. Two thousand, five hundred galleons. Momma like." McGonagall coughed loudly with a wry smile, and Hannah Abbott straightened herself. "Sorry, Professor, it's just, being back here." She giggled. "There are no other rules to the competition that you must worry yourself with; except that you must take this into account. This is serious. You may endanger your life here. Winning means fame and fortune. But losing? Who knows. Don't enter your name lightly. Once you're in, you can't drop out. Thank you for your time." She blew us a kiss at that and left the podium. McGonagall stood.

"On that note, breakfast is served."

The food arrived in front of us, looking almost transparent in its delectableness. I took five sausages and dug in. Conversation was all about the Tournament. "I don't think I could eat a thing, I'm so excited!" Azrael said, throwing a poached egg down her throat.

"Don't you even think of entering, baby, you're not risking your life." Ben chastised. He, however, had drawn himself up and puffed his chest out, winking at Hannah. Azrael barely noticed. "I'll do it."

"Oh, you mustn't!" Az pouted, prodding him.

"Don't argue me, Potter."

"No, honey, you mustn't get yourself killed, it would be of great loss to the world! Oh wait... no, go ahead." I input scathingly, earning myself a jab in the ribs from Caine and a kick in the ankle from Az. "You know it to be true." I looked at Caine. "You'd better not." My tone left no room for argument, but Caine opened his mouth anyway. "Oh, Cruz! What the hell?"

"Well, it's not like I'm likely to be chosen, anyway, and if I am it will be fu- are you even listening?"

I wasn't, because the post had arrived. I ignored Flitwick as he dropped my timetable into my lap, searching the skies for the one bird I cared about.

And there it was, finally. A beautiful tawny owl circled the room, spiralling and flipping and showing off, like its owner would. When she finally deigned to join me, I was anxious and anticipatory. "Ooh, Jon again? I think something's going down." I ignored Ben's comment as I fed her bacon.

"Hello, Prudence," I whispered to her, grooming her feathers lightly. "Do you have something?"

The bird rustled her magnificent feathers and held out a leg. I took the scroll carefully. "Go to the owl tower. I'll find you later." With only a cat, it was either I used his owl or the school owls. The school owls would take all week, though, and I couldn't face that. I tore open the wax seal, angling myself away from Caine. Jon and my letters were something I would only share with myself.

_Pyxis Andromeda Hydra Malfoy; ma belle, tigresse évasive,_

_I was very happy to recieve your last letter. However strange this may seem, I am missing you too. I am missing being with you with my arms around you like on that night when we first met and last saw each other. I am missing your voice, ma beauté. I find myself hoping that my late reply will trigger a howler, so that I may feel your fury. I may have only met you once; but don't you think once is enough? I yearn for your contact, I yearn for your touch, your skin on mine, your love and just _you _my darling sweethearted tigress._

_And now that joke's over with._

_Hey babe. I'm sorry about taking so damn long to get back to you. I'm sure Benji will have explained – or not, the sod that he is. In case he hasn't, I'll explain now and slap him for me, hard._

I reached over and did this straight away.

_Merlin, he's a retard. But, if you know, skip this paragraph:_

_I went back to Scotland to visit my sister in her convent, and they frown on outside contact and magic. One of the nuns saw me with the parchment to write to you, and she burnt it and chased poor Prue away. I thought of sending her to you, but I thought a Prue with no message would panic you a wee bit. So she nested in the bell tower. I tried to message you when I got back but it has all been a bit hectic. And then I got to Beauxbatons to find out that..._

_THE TRIWIZARD, BABY!_

_I'm putting my name in, definitely, if only to come and join you over there for a while. It's been such a while since I've seen Ol' Hoggy. And I'll get to see you! I wasn't joking when I said I missed you. I feel daft saying that to a girl I've met once, but... you know. It's the truth. And if I'm not in it, we can have__** so much fun**__ watching it with Azzy Spaz and Benji._

I giggled aloud here, earning myself some strange looks from Ben. He rolled his eyes. "I hate my cousin." He murmured into Azrael's locks. "Anybody that can make that witch happy is pure evil." Azrael chuckled, kissing him lightly. I just looked back.

_Are you entering? I mean, I am just because it's a ticket to England. But what would be yours? I know you've probably been telling Caine the Pain not to, and Azzy too, but what about you, Andy? You gonna miss out on the fun? Or are you gonna give yourself a chance to show everybody what PYXIS ANDROMEDA HYDRA MALFOY can do? Will you kick arse, if just for that? And baby girl, don't you go on about it being dangerous and irresponsible. Life is dangerous and irresponsible. YOU LIVE IN A CASTLE WITH 209 OTHER UNDERAGE UNDER-TRAINED WIZARDS AND WITCHES. ANYTHING COULD GO WRONG, FROM BURNING YOUR LEGS OFF IN POTIONS TO GETTING AN STI. IT'S LIFE. AND I DON'T CARE WHAT EXCUSE YOU HAVE, NEWSFLASH, HONEY. ITS ALL OUT OF FEAR. BABY, YOU SHOULD GO FOR IT. THAT'S MY SICKLE. COUNT IT. IT'S ONE:NIL._

_And if you win there are all those galleons in it. And I know you're happy with what you have, baby, but this is all beautiful, tax free, no strings attached teenager dosh. No asking mummy here. And your name will live on. The last four years, noone won. They were too injured to go on. YOU COULD BE THE FIRST ONE IN TWENTY YEARS._

_The glory._

_Come on, Andy, do it with me._

_Jonathan Harrison Christopher Clare; votre dieu du sexe._

_P.S. Happy birthday sweetness. I'll have your present when I come._

I could already see how I was going to reply, it was forming in my head. 'My god of sex? I think you're delusional...' I couldn't write it then, though. It was too late and I needed to get to Latin, apparently. Grabbing my bag, I left without a word. The letter was crumpled into my breast pocket for safe keeping. It never left it's place... well... except for that one time. And that other time... and well, maybe a few more times at the back of Muggle History... and in the library after school. But most of the time it was safe in my pocket.

Most of the time.

_Author's Note: I hope it was better than the last one... bit dull... introductory. Don't expect another update for a while, I'm starting Chapter Three now. Depends when my beloved updater can get it. But if you read it, let me know what you think. It's all taken into account._


End file.
